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In  Honor  Bound 


An  Original  Play  in  One  Act 


By  Sydney  Grundy 

(Author  of  "cMa.mTnon,"  "The  Sno'wba.ll,"  etc. 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  PENN   PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright  1900  by  The  Penn  Puhushing  Companv 


URL 


IN  HONOR  BOUND 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Sir  George  Carlyon,  Q.  C,  M.  P An  Attorney 

Philip  Graham A  man  with  a  past 

Rose  Dalrymple A  woman  ivith  a  present 

Lady  Carlyon With  the  hope  of  a  future 

Costumes  Modern 


Time  in  Representation,  One  Hour  and  Fifteen 

Minutes 


IN  HONOR  BOUND 


ScKNE — Room  at  Sir  George  Carlvon's.  Fire  lit,  r.; 
in  front  of  it  a  wide,  luxurious  lounge  with  high  back  ; 
against  it,  c,  a  writing  table,  piled  high  with  briefs,  so  as 
to  helfy  obscure  the  view  of  the  lounge  from  aiiybody  sit- 
ting at  the  desk ;  in  f-ont  of  desk  a  xvriting  chair ;  a 
piano,  music  seat,  and  small  table,  L. ;  doors,  R.  u.  E.  and 
L.  I  E.,  witidozv  at  back  with  curtains  drawn.  The  room 
is  lighted  by  a  lamp  ivhich  stands  upon  the  desk,  a  box  of 
cigars  by  the  side  of  it. 

(Sir  George  discovered,  seated  at  the  desk,  reading  and 
underscoring  rapidly  an  opefi  brief.  He  is  in  evening 
dress) 

Sir  G.  {folding np  brief).  Ah,  the  old  story!  I  need  read 
no  more.  {Lays  doivn  the  brief  atid  rises.)  What's  this  ? 
{Picks  up  a  letter  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  desk)  Oh — ah  ! 
the  letter  that  came  b}-  this  morning's  post  for  Philip.  A 
woman's  writing-.  How  alike  they  write  !  The  very  double 
of  my  niece's  hand!  {Throws  down  letter  and  looks  at 
watch)  Eleven  o'clock.  What  has  become  of  Philip? 
{Enter  Philip  Graham,  l.,  evening  dress)  Ah,  there  you 
are  ! 

Philip.     Are  you  at  liberty  ? 

Sir  G.  Yes,  I  have  finished  work  for  to-night.  Come 
in.     I  am  afraid  I  have  neglected  you. 

Philip.  Not  in  the  least.  I  stayed  upstairs  on  purpose, 
knowing  you  were  busy.     I  have  been  unpacking. 

Sir  G.  (Sir  George  draws  fonvard  chair,  c).  Sit 
down.  You  must  be  tired  after  your  journey.  {Sits  on  the 
end  of  the  lounge,  facing  audieiice) 

Philip  {sits,  c).  I  was  tired  and  hungry,  but  your  cook 
has  kindly  seen  to  that. 

Sir  G.  Lady  Carlyon  had  quite  given  you  up,  or  she 
would  have  stayed  in  to  welcome  you. 

Philip.     My  train  was  very  late. 

Sir  G.  Oh,  bv-the-by  {rises),  there  is  a  letter  waiting  for 
you.     {Gives  it  to  him) 

Philip.  Thanks.  {Swi.  Gkokgk  resumes  his  seat — aside) 
Rose's  hand.     {Pockets  it) 

5 


6  IN'    HONOR    liOL'ND 

Sir  G.     My  wife  is  at  the  theatre. 

Philip.     Oh! 

Sir  G.  We  have  had  another  visitor  to-day — a  niece  of 
mine,  wlio  has  come  from  abroad.  I  promised  I  vvcmld 
take  her  to  the  play,  but  just  as  I  was  leaving  chambers 
some  briefs  tumbled  in,  and  1  thought  it  might  be  as  well 
to  glance  them  over;   so  my  wife  has  taken  her, 

Philip.     Lady  Carlyon  is  quite  well,  I  hope. 

Sir  G,     Perfectly,  thank  you. 

Philip,     It  is  two  years  since  I  saw  her. 

Sir  G.  So  it  is.  We  have  seen  nothing  of  you  lately — 
you,  whom  we  used  to  see  so  much.    Where  have  you  been  .'' 

Philip.  Well,  all  over  the  world.  The  day  I  met  you, 
when  you  were  so  kind  as  to  invite  me  here,  was  the  day 
of  my  arrival  home. 

Sir.  G.  So  kind  as  to  invite  you!  My  dear  boy,  you 
raised  objections  enough  to  my  invitation. 

Philip.     I  was  afraid  of  trespassing  on  your  hospitality. 

Sir  G.     And  so  you  have  been  round  the  world  ? 

Philip,     From  Dan  to  Beersheba. 

Sir  G.     And  you  found  all  barren  ? 

Philip.  On  the  contrary,  I've  had  a  very  jolly  time — 
especially  upon  the  voyage  home. 

Sir  G.     You  look  the  better  for  it. 

Philip.     I  am  anew  man. 

Sir  G.     You  weren't  well  when  you  went  away. 

Philip.     I  was  depressed  and  out  of  sorts. 

Sir  G.     So  I  observed. 

Philip,     You  noticed  it  ? 

Sir  G.  And  I  remember  thinking  at  the  time  there  was 
a  woman  in  the  case. 

Philip.  That  is  all  over  now.  I  am  as  happy  as  the 
san-d-boy  in  the  saying. 

Sir  G.     Then,  there's  another  woman  in  the  case. 

Philip.  My  dear  Sir  George,  according  to  your  view, 
there  is  a  woman  in  every  case. 

Sir  G.  {pointing  to  table).  There  are  some  twenty  briefs. 
Open  which  one  of  them  you  please,  and  somewhere  in 
the  folds  you'll  find  a  petticoat. 

Philip.     What,  twenty  women  hidden  in  these   briefs? 

Sir  G.  At  least.  There  never  was  a  case  without  a 
woman  in  it,  and  I  never  leave  one  until  I've  found  her; 
for  I  know  well  enough  until  I  do  I  have  not  mastered  it. 
There  is  a  woman  in  your  case,  my  friend. 

Philip.  To  tell  the  truth,  there  is.  A  charming  girl  I 
mat  upon  the  voyage  home. 


IN    HONOR    nOL'ND  J 

Sir  G.     The  jolly  voyage  home  ! 

Philii'.     1  am  in  love  this  time,  Sir  George. 

Sir  G.     Oil,  yes  !    we  always  are  in  love  this  time. 

Philip.     I  thought  I  was  before,  but  I  was  wrong. 

Sir  G.     Of  course!   we  never  were  before! 

Philip.     And  better  still,  I  am  engaged. 

Sir  G.     What!   to  the  charming  girl  ? 

Philip.     The  only  girl  in  the  wide  world  for  me. 

Sir  G.  Well,  you've  been  round  it,  so  you  ought  to 
know.     I  hope  you  will  be  happy.     It's  a  toss-up,  Philip. 

Philip.     I'm  afraid  your  profession  makes  you  cynical. 

Sir  G.     Gad,  it  would  make  an  angel  cynical. 

Philip.  No  doubt,  you  meet  with  some  extraordinary 
cases.     ( Turning  over  briefs) 

Sir  G.  Never.  All  ordinary.  To  a  man  who  has  had 
twenty  years'  experience,  no  possible  case  can  appear  ex- 
traordinary. There  aren't  three  there  of  which  I  didn't 
know  the  end  before  I  turned  a  page.  No  wonder  we  don't 
always  read  our  briefs,  for  we  know  most  of  them  by  heart. 
{Lies  back.) 

Philif.     Halloa!     {Smili?ig.) 

Sir  G.     What  have  you  found? 

Philip.     A  breach  of  promise  case.   This  looks  amusing. 

Sir  G.  Very  amusing  for  the  judge  and  jury.  Very 
amusing  for  the  public,  too.  Very  amusing  for  the  new- 
made  ivife  to  read  in  all  the  newspapers  her  husband's  past. 

Philip.     Is  the  defendant  married,  then  ? 

Sir  G.  Of  course  he  is.  They  always  are.  And  of 
course,  he  was  on  with  the  new  love  before  he  was  off  with 
the  old.  They  always  will  be.  The  old  love  was  no  better 
than  she  need  be,  and  no  more  was  he.  Very  amusing  for 
the  new  love,  isn't  it  ? 

Philip.     Of  course  the  letters  will  be  read  in  court  ? 

Sir  G.  And  published  in  the  papers.  "  November, 
1897 — your  own  loving  and  devoted  Harry."  Laughter. 
"November,  1898 — Yours  most  affectionately,  Henry." 
Loud  laughter.  "  November,  1899 — Yours  truly,  Henry 
Horrocks."  Roars  of  laughter.  Oh,  it's  a  most  amusing 
case — for  Mrs.  Henry  Horrocks. 

Philip.  WHiy  don't  you  settle  it  ?  You  are  for  the 
defendant. 

Sir  G.  We've  tried,  but  it's  too  late.  Take  warning  by 
my  client. 

Philip.     I? 

Sir  G.     You  be  in  time,  if  you  are  not  too  late  already. 

Philip.     Excuse   me,  mine   was  quite  a  different  case. 


8  IN    HONOR    Morxi) 

Tliank  Heaven,  I  liave  no  reason  to  reproach  myself.  There 
was  no  love,  at  any  rale  on  my  sitle,  in  the  matter  you 
allude  to. 

Sir  G.  And  yet  you  flcil  the  country  to  avoid  the  lady. 
{Sitti}i,!^  up.) 

Philip.     I  never  said  so. 

Sir  G.  No,  my  boy;  you  never  said  that  two  and  two 
makes  four,  but  it  does,  doesn't  it?  {Looking  at  Philip 
through  his  glasses.) 

Philip.  No  doubt.  I  felt  tliat  my  position  was — 
{Hesitates.) 

Sir  G.     Equivocal. 

Philip.     That  is  the  word  I  wanted. 

Sir  G.     Useful  word. 

Philip.  And  feeling  that,  I  thought  the  best  course  was 
to— 

Sir  G.      Run  away. 

Philip.  But  as  for  promises  of  marriage,  there  was 
nothing  ol  that  sort.     In  fact,  there  couldn't  be. 

Sir  G.     Because  the  lady  was  already — 

Philip.     Hang  it.  Sir  George,  you're  telling  me  my  case  ! 

Sir  G.  {drops  glasses).  You'll  find  it  in  the  third  brief 
on  your  right. 

Philip  {looking  at  brief).  "Winter  v.  Winter  and 
Hockheimer  ?" 

Sir  G.     That's  your  case,  as  far  as  it  has  gone. 

Philip  {takes  7ip  brief  and  reads  indorsement).  "In 
the  High  Court  of  Justice — Probate  and — "  But  this  is  a 
divorce  case  ! 

Sir  G.    Just  so. 

Philip.  Oh,  that's  not  my  case.  {Puts  brief  back  in  its 
place) 

Sir  G.  I  said  as  far  as  it  had  gone.  Hockheimer  ran 
away.  You  ran  away.  But  Hockheimer  came  back  again. 
And  I  observe  that  you've  come  back  again. 

Philip.     But  I'm  not  Hockheimer! 

Sir  G.  As  far  as  you  have  gone.  Hockheimer  was  a 
friend  of  Winter's — 

Philip.     But  I'm  not!     I  never  saw  the  man  in  my  life! 

Sir  G.     No,  but  the  other  man  ? 

Philip.     What  other  man  ? 

Sir  G.     The  husband. 

Philip.     I  didn't  say  he  was  my  friend ! 

Sir  G.     Oh,  yes,  you  did. 

Philip.     When  did  I  say  so? 

Sir  G.     When  you  ran  away.     {Puts  glasses  up) 


IX  !i()NoR  I'.orxn  9 

Philip.  Spare  me,  Sir  George.  You  make  me  feel  like 
a  witness  under  cross-examination.  I  didn't  mean  to 
breathe  a  word  of  this,  and  somehow  I  have  told  you 
everything. 

Sir  G.  Well,  you  have  told  me  a  good  deal.  {Drops, 
glasses)     Now,  will  you  let  me  give  you  my  advice  ? 

Philip.     By  all  means. 

Sir  G.     Keep  those  women  apart. 

Philip.     Whicii  women  ? 

Sir  G.  {smiling).  The  charming  girl  and  the  neglected 
wife. 

Philip.     I  never  said  she  was  neglected. 

Sir  G.    But  she  is,  isn't  she  ?    {Putting  up  his  eye-glasses) 

Philip.     Those  glasses  worry  me. 

Sir.  G.  {dropping  the  eye-glasses).  I  beg  your  pardon; 
it's  the  force  of  habit.  Off  with  the  old  love — friend — or 
what  you  will — and  never  let  the  new  one  see  her.  Off 
with  her  entirely !  That's  my  advice ;  and  many  a  hun- 
dred guineas  have  been  paid  for  worse. 

Philip.  Oh,  they  will  never  meet.  I  mean  to  live 
abroad.  The  girl  I  am  engaged  to  is  a  South  Australian. 
(Sir  George  lifts  his  head  quickly)  And  she  has  only  come 
to  England  on  a  visit.  Her  parents  are  both  dead,  and  she 
came  over  with  a  maiden  aunt  with  whom  she  is  now 
stopping. 

Sir  G.     Where? 

Philip.  At  Bayswater.  In  a  few  weeks  she  will  go  back 
to  Melbourne  ;  and  then  all  danger,  if  there  be  any,  is  over. 

Sir  G.  So  you  have  come  from  Melbourne  in  the 
"  Kangaroo  "  ?    {Rises) 

Philip.    Who  told  you  what  boat  I  came  over  in  ? 

Sir  G.     I  gathered  it  from  what  you  said  yourself. 

Philip.  I  won't  say  a  word  more,  or  in  two  minutes  you 
will  guess  the  lady's  name. 

Sir  G.     I  have  already  guessed  it. 

Philip.     What! 

Sir  G.     Rose  Dalrymple. 

Philip  {springs  up).     This  is  inexplicable! 

Sir  G.     Not  at  all. 

Philip.     I  have  told  nobody ! 

Sir  G.     You  have  told  me. 

Philip.     You  know  Miss  Dalrymple  ? 

Sir  G.  She  is  my  niece.  (Philip  steps  back)  She  is  a 
South  Australian.  She  came  to  England  in  the  "  Kanga- 
roo," and  has  been  stopping  with  a  maiden  aunt  at  Bays- 
water. 


10  IN    HONOR    HOUND 

I'lllLI!'.  \nuv   iiicce  ! 

Sir  G.  1  am  licr  j;uardian,  since  my  sister  died. 

Philip.  Tlien,  she  is  your  wife's — 

Sir  G.  Niece  by  marriage.     {Crosses,  L.)     They  have 

just  come  bade  from  tlie  theatre. 

Philip.  Oil!     {Drops  into  chair,  c^ 

Sir  G.  I  hear  them. 

{Enter  Rose  Dalrymple,  in  evening  dress,  as  if  returning 
from  the  theatre^ 

Rose.     Ah,  Uncle  George  !     {About  to  embrace^ 

Philip  {springs  up  again).     Rose  ! 

Rose.     PhiUp !     {Rushes  to  his  arms) 

Sir  G.  Humph!  Exit  Uncle  George.  {Arranges  pa- 
pers on  desk.) 

Rose.  How  late  you  are !  We've  been  expecting  you 
all  the  afternoon. 

Philip  {ta/ci?ig  her  aside,  R.).  You  didn't  say  that  you 
were  coming  here ! 

Rose.  No;  didn't  I  tell  you  I  would  give  you  a 
surprise  ? 

Philip.     When  ? 

Rose.     In  my  letter.     Haven't  you  received  it  ? 

Philip.  Yes,  but  I  haven't  liad  time  to  open  it.  {Pro- 
duces  it — breaks  the  seal — and  replaces  it  in  his  pocket,  un- 
noticed by  Sir  George.)  And  when  I  told  you  of  my 
invitation  here,  you  didn't  tell  me  that  you  knew  Sir 
George. 

Rose.     Because  I  wanted  to  surprise  you,  dear. 

Philip-  Well,  you  have  done  so  most  effectually.  Tell 
me,  does  Lady  Carlyon  know  of  our  engagement  ? 

Rose.  No,  not  yet.  I  never  saw  her  till  to-day,  and  I 
didn't  like  to  be  so  confidential. 

Philip  {relieved).     Ah ! 

Rose.     You're  not  angry  with  me  for  not  having  told 
her? 
^      Philip.     Not  at  all.     We  will  surprise  her. 

Rose.     Shall  we  ? 

Philip.     To-night  we  will  pretend  we  are  strangers. 

Rose.     But  I  shall  pretend  very  badly,  I  am  sure. 

Philip.  Oh,  you  can  keep  a  secret.  You  have  shown 
me  that. 

Rose.     I'll  try,  at  any  rate. 

Sir  G.  {putting  chair,  c,  into  its  place  at  desk).  Now, 
Miss  Dalrymple,  if  you  are  at  liberty,  perhaps  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  tell  me  what  has  become  of  my  wife.-' 


IN    }I()\OR    I'.OfXD  11 

Rose  {going  to  him,  c).  She'll  be  here  directly.  She 
is  only  speaking  to  the  servants.     {Kisses  him.) 

{Enter  Lady  Carlyon,  l.,  also  in  evening  dress,  with  a 
bouquet :  she  at  once  sees  Philip,  and  he  her ;  Philip, 
R.,  turns  full  front  to  audience) 

Lady  C.  {aside).    Philip  !  {Stops  short.) 

Sir  G.  {seeing  her).  Ah,  here  she  is!  {Goes  to  her,  L.) 
My  dear,  you  don't  look  well ! 

Lady  C.     The  theatre  was  so  close. 

Sir  G.  It  always  make  you  ill.  But  you  have  not  seen 
Philip.     {Indicates  Philip.) 

Lady  C.  Ah,  Mr.  Graham !  {Advances  c. — Philip  ad-- 
vances  to  meet  her.)  Excuse  me  for  not  recognizing  you. 
( They  shake  hands  rather  ceremoniously.) 

Sir  G.  What  has  turned  Philip  into  Mr.  Graham, 
pray  ? 

Lady  C.     He  has  not  been  to  see  us  for  so  long. 

Philip.     Allow  me.     {Helps  to  retnove  her  cloak) 

Sir  G.  No  wonder,  if  you  make  a  stranger  of  him  when 
he  comes.    {Sits,  c.) 

Lady  C.  If  Philip  is  a  stranger,  he  has  made  one  of 
himself. 

Philip      The  fault  is  mine  entirely.    {Takes  cloak) 

Lady  C.     Thanks. 

{Goes  L.  again  with  bouquet  and  sits  down — Rose  has  meati- 
while  deposited  her  cloak  at  the  farther  e  fid  of  the  lounge 
— she  takes  the  other  cloak  from  Philip  and  flings  it 
upon  her  own,  then  leans  over  the  desk — Philip  sits 
upon  the  etid  of  the  lounge) 

Sir  G.     Well,  how  did  you  enjoy  the  play  ? 

Rose.  Oh,  so  much,  Uncle  George  !  Although  it  was  in 
French,  I  followed  every  word. 

Philip.     It  is  the  French  plays  j^ou  have  been  to? 

Sir  G.     What  was  the  piece  ? 

Lady  C.     "  Une  Chaine,"  by  Eugene  Scribe. 

Sir  G.     I  don't  remember  it. 

Rose.  And  it  is  so  exciting.  There  is  a  young  man  in 
it — such  a  nice  young  man,  with  a  mustache — oh,  such  a 
sweet  mustache ! 

SirG.     Well? 

Rose.     He's  in  love. 

Sir  G.     Of  course. 

Rose.     With  a  young   girl — oh,    such  a  stupid  girl !     I 


12  IN    HONOR    HOUND 

can't  think  what  he  could  have  seen   in  her — and  slie's  in 
'ove  with  iiini. 

Sir  G.     And  they  get  married,  I  suppose. 

Rosi:.  In  the  last  act ;  but  in  the  meantime  there  is  such 
a  to-do. 

Sir  G.     Why  ? 

Rose.  It  appears,  before  tlie  play  began,  the  hero — the 
young  man — 

Philip.     With  the  mustache — 

Rose.     Had  been  in  love  with  some  one  else. 

Sir  G.     Ah ! 

Rose.     But  now  he  doesn't  care  for  her  a  bit. 

Sir  G.     What  is  the  difficulty,  then  ? 

Rose.  She  cares  for  him  ;  and  though  he's  trying  through 
the  whole  four  acts,  do  what  he  will,  he  can't  get  rid  of  her. 

Sir  G.     I  see.     That  is  the  chain. 

Rose.  He  nearly  breaks  it  half  a  dozen  times,  but  some- 
thing always  happens  to  prevent  him.  You've  no  idea  how 
interesting  it  is — although,  of  course,  it's  very,  very  wrong. 

Sir  G.     Why  wrong  ? 

Rose.  Well,  you  see,  some  one  else  is  married  ;  and,  of 
course,  she  oughtn't  to  care  anything  about  the  nice  young 
man. 

Sir  G.     Although  he  has  so  lovely  a  mustache. 

Rose.  But  she  does — which  is  wicked — but  it's  very  in- 
teresting. 

Sir  G.  {to  Lady  Carlyon).  What  did  you  think  of  it, 
my  dear? 

Lady  C.     It  is  a  painful  subject. 

Rose.  Aunt  Bell  didn't  like  it ;  but  she  took  it  all  so 
seriously.  If  it  were  real,  it  would  be  very  sad  ;  but  after 
all,  what  is  it  but  a  play?  Besides,  it  all  takes  place  in 
Paris ;  nobody  pretends  that  such  things  happen  here. 

Lady  C.     Of  course  {quickly). 

Philip.     Of  course  {qiiickly). 

Sir  G.  {ironically)  Of  course.  ( Takes  np  the  third  brief 
on  his  right,  and  plays  with  it) 

Rose.  I  read  a  notice  of  the  piece  this  morning,  and  I 
quite  agreed  with  it. 

Sir  G.     What  did  the  notice  say  ? 

Rose.  It  said  it  was  "an  admirable  play,  but  that  an 
English  version  of  it  was  impossible." 

Sir  G.     Why  so  ? 

Rose.  "Because" — how  did  it  put  it? — oh.  "because 
these  vivid  but  unwholesome  pictures  of  French  life  have 
happily  no  " — something — I  forget  exactly  what — "  to  the 


IN    HONOR    BOUND  I5 

chaste  beauty  of  our  English  homes."  I  can't  remember 
the  jjrecise  words,  but  1  know  tlie  criticism  made  me  lung 
to  see  tlie  play. 

Sir  G.  {putting  the  brief  back  in  its  place,  after  he  sees  n 
has  caught  Vnw^iv's  eyes).     Of  course  it  filled  the  theatre? 

Lady  C.  The  house  was  crowded,  and  the  atmospiiere 
was  insupportable.     {Smells  bouquet) 

Sir  G.  No  doubt ;  if  you  were  bending  all  night  long 
over  those  sickly  flowers.  {Crosses  to  her — she  rises.) 
Give  them  to  me.  ( Takes  bouquet)  Why,  they  are  almost 
withered.     {Comes,  c,  with  bouquet.) 

Lady  C.     They  were  fresh  yesterday. 

Sir  G.  (c).  To-days  and  yesterdays  are  different  things. 
{Holds  the  bouquet  head  downward.) 

Rose.  It  wasn't  the  flowers  tiiough.  Aunt  Bell  didn't 
like  the  play. 

Philip.     It  isn't  everybody  who  admires   French  plays. 

Sir  G.  {to  Lady  Carlyon).  What,  were  you  scandal- 
ized? You  must  know,  Philip — you  do  know,  of  course 
— Lady  Carlyon  is  a  dragon  in  her  vvay — the  very  pink  and 
pattern  of  propriety.  Now,  I'll  be  bound,  she  didn't  like  the 
moral  of  that  comedy. 

Lady  C.     Had  it  a  moral  ? 

Sir  G.  Certainly!  and  one  men  would  do  well  to  lay  to 
heart.     If  that  young  man — 

Rose.     The  one  with  the  mustache  ? 

Sir  G.  Had  buried  his  first  love  when  it  was  dead,  he 
wouldn't  have  been  haunted  by  its  ghost.  When  passion 
is  burnt  out,  sweep  the  hearth  clean,  and  clear  away  the  ash, 
before  you  set  alight  another  fire.  It  is  a  law  of  life.  Old 
things  give  place  to  new.  The  loves  of  yesterday  are  like 
these  faded  flowers,  fit  only  to  be  cast  into  the  flames. 
{Flings  bouquet  into  fire>)  That  is  the  moral;  and  I  call  it 
excellent.     {Sits  c,  and  looks  at  Philip.) 

Lady  C.  {aside).  He  doesn't  speak  to  me.  Am  I  a  faded 
flower  ?    {Sits,  L.) 

Rose.  Very  good.  Uncle  George.  That  ought  to  get 
the  verdict.     {Leaning  upon  his  shoulder) 

Sir  G.     Let  us  hope  it  will.     {Looking  at  Philip.) 

Rose.  If  all  your  speeches  are  as  nice  as  that,  I  must 
come  down  to  court  and  hear  you  plead. 

Sir  G.  I  shall  be  proud  to  have  so  fair  an  auditor.  But 
we've  not  told  your  aunt  the  news. 

Lady  C.     What  new?  ? 

Sir  G.     Philip  informs  me,  much  to  my  surprise — 

i'HiLiP  {rising).     Sir  George,    I    have    considered   your 


T4  IN    HONOR    BOUND 

advice,  and  have  resolved  to  act  on  it.  Till  I  have  done 
so  it  would  perhaps  be  better — 

Sir  G.  Not  to  say  anything?  I  will  respect  your  con- 
fidence. 

Lady  C.  You  have  some  private  matters  to  discuss. 
Shall  we  go  ?    {A'l'ses.) 

Sir  G.     We  will  go,  if  you  will  excuse  us.     {/it'ses.) 

Lady  C.     Certainly. 

Sir  G.  (/(9  Philip).  Come  with  me.     {Exit,  i,.) 

Philip.  In  case  I  don't  see  you  again,  Miss  Dalrymple, 
good  night.     {Boivs.) 

Rose.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Graham.  {She  courtesies  cei'e- 
moniously). 

Lady  C.  {aside).  What  can  they  have  to  talk  about— 
those  two  ?     {Reflectively.) 

(Philip  comes,  l.,  a?icl  stands  before  Lady  Carlyon.) 

Philip.     Good  night.     {Puts  out  his  hand.) 

Lady  C.  {giving  him  her  hand  slowly,  ivhich  he  takes  and 
drops).  Good  night.  {Exit  Philip,  quickly,  l.)  How 
glad  he  is  to  go  1  {Drops  down  on  seat,  L.,  leaning  her  head 
back,  pressed  betweeii  her  hands — slight  pazise — Rose  comes 
do7vn.) 

Rose.     Is  anything  the  matter? 

Lady  C.  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear.  {Rises  and  puts  her 
arm  round  Rose  and  leads  her  to  the  lounge.)  I  don't  feel 
very  well  to-night. 

Rose.  Sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you.  A  chat  will 
cheer  you,  perhaps. 

(Lady  Carlyon  sits  upon  the  lounge  before  the  fire — Rose 
kjieels  beside  her,  on  the  further  side  from  audience,  so 
that  both  their  faces  are  visible") 

Lady  C.  I  am  so  glad  to  have  you  with  me,  Rose.  \ 
wish  I  had  you  always.     I  am  very  lonely. 

Rose.     You  have  Uncle  George  ! 

Lady  C.  Sir  George  is  always  busy,  and  I  do  not  care 
to  interrupt  him. 

Rose.     But  he  has  some  leisure. 

Lady  C.  I  never  knew  him  to  have  any,  since  I  was  his 
wife.  It's  not  his  fault.  A  man  in  his  position  has  so  much 
to  do.     When  he  is  not  in  court,  he  is  in  Parliament. 

Rose.     He  is  at  home  to-night. 

Lady  C.     And  when  he  is  at  home,  he  is  at  work. 

Rose.     Poor  lonely  aunt !     {Clasps  her  arms  round  her.) 


IN    HONOR    BOI'NO  IJ; 

I  told  you  at  the  tlicatre  how  hke  you  were  to  Madame  de 
Saint  Geran  in  the  j)lay. 

Lady  C.     Don't  let  us  talk  about  tliat  cruel  play. 

Rose.     Why,  was  it  cruel  ? 

Lady  C.  VVhat  did  it  make  you  tliink  of  Madame  de 
Saint  Geran  ? 

Rose.  Well — I  thought  she  was  a  very  wicked  woman. 
Wasn't  she  ? 

Lady  C.  Perhaps.  But  if  we  had  been  told  her  history 
— if  we  had  ever  been  in  her  position — we  might  have 
sympathized  with  her.   Were  you  ever  in  love  ? 

Rose.     Yes  ;  I  mean  no  ;  I  can't  exactly  say. 

Lady  C.  If  you  had  been,  you  wouldn't  hesitate.  There 
is  no  doubt  about  it.  It  is  a  weird  thing.  Sometimes  it 
leads  to  heights,  sometimes  to  depths.  I  do  not  say  it  is  an 
excuse.  All  I  say  is,  those  who  have  never  loved  are  not 
entitled  to  judge  those  who  have.  Wait  till  you  are  in  love 
yourself,  before  you  judge  poor  Madame  de  Saint  Geran. 
And  if  you  ever  should  be — 

Rose.     Oh,  I  shall  be  ! 

Lady  C.     Marry  for  love,  my  dear,  or  not  at  all. 

Rose.     What  did  you  marry  for? 

Lady  C.  (s/rohng-  Rose's  /lair).  I  didn't  marry;  I  was 
married.    Don't  ask  me  any  more. 

Rose.  Poor  Aunt  Bell  1  lie  down,  and  let  me  play  to  you. 
(Rises.) 

Lady  C.  Do,  dear.  I  am  too  tired  to  talk.  {S/ie  lies  back 
on  the  /oirnge.  Rose  i^oes  to  the  picwio.) 

Rose  {sitting  at  piano).  What  shall  I  play  you  ? 

Lady  C.    Anything  you  please. 

(Rose  plays  on  the  piano — Lady  Carlyon,  with  the  firelight 
flickering  about  her,  gradually  falls  asleep.     Music.) 

Rose,  Aunt!  {Turni)ig^  Aunt!  {Rises  and  goes  on  tip- 
toe to  the  back  of  the  loufige.)  She's  fast  asleep.  {Covers 
Lady  Carlyon  with  the  cloaks,  u7itil  the  upper  part  of  her 
figure  is  quite  hidden,  and  then  stands  surveying  her.)  How 
pretty  she  looks!  but  liow  pale!  I  like  you,  aunt!  I  never 
saw  you  till  to-day,  but  I  like  you.  {Comes  do2v?t.)  If  I  stop 
I  shall  wake  her.  {Crosses  to  c.)  I'll  lower  the  lamp  and 
go.  {Lowers  the  lamp  and  crosses  behind  desk  to  v..  at  back) 
Good  night.  Aunt  Bell !  {Bending  over  the  further  etid  of 
the  lounge.)  Good  night — {kisses  her  softly) — and  pleasant 
dreams !  {Exit  R.) 

{^The  room  is  now  in  darkness,  except  for  the  firelight,  'which 
throws  a  strong  glow  over  Lady  Carlyon,  so  that  her 


I6  IN    HONOR    BOUND 

slii^fifest  7)iove»ienf  is  quite  visilile  to  the  mtdietice,  but  not 
from  the  L.  side  of  the  desk.  At  prese?it  she  is  fast  asleep 
and  })iotio/iless.) 

{Re-enter  ':^\K  Georgr,  \..,  followed  tyy  PiULii'.) 

Sir  G.  Yes,  they  liave  gone  to  bed.  The  lamp  has  been 
turned  down.    Now  we  can  smoke.    {AI)ont  to  turn  lamp  up.), 

Philip.  Don't  turn  it  up,  please.  This  half  light  is 
charming. 

Sir  G.  Just  as  you  like,  but  I  can  scarcely  see  you. 
(  7'akes  up  cigar  box.) 

Philip  (aside).     So  much  the  better. 

Sir  G.     A  cigar  ?     {Offers  box.) 

Philip.     Thanks.     {7'akes  one.) 

Sir  G.  Now  we  can  talk  more  comfortably.  (Takes  a 
cigar  himself,  while  Philip  lights  his  with  a  march  which  he 
then  ha?ids  to  Sir  George.)  Thanks.  (Philip  jz'/.y,  l.,  Sir 
George,  c.)  As  I  was  saying,  Rose  being  my  ward,  I  am 
concerned  in  this  affair,  and  what  I  just  now  recommended 
as  a  friend,  in  my  position  as  her  guardian  I  can  insist 
upon. 

Philip.  I  have  already  said.  Sir  George,  that  I  intend  to 
act  on  your  advice. 

Sir  G.     How  does  the  matter  stand? 

Philip.  Exactly  as  it  stood  when  I  left  England.  It 
was  a  friendship,  nothing  but  a  friendship. 

Sir  G.     Friendship  ? 

Philip.     Dangerous,  no  doubt ;  that's  why  I  went  abroad. 

Sir  G.     Have  you  communicated  with  the  lady  since  ? 

Philip.     Never. 

Sir  G.     Nor  she  with  you?     (Pause.)     Eh? 

Philip.     Once. 

Sir  G.  Ah  !  Now  I  understand  the  case.  May  I  inquire 
what  you  propose  to  do  ? 

Philip.  To  see  her  and  to  tell  her  I  am  going  to  be 
married. 

Sir  G.     What  does  that  put  an  end  to? 

Philip.     Everything. 

Sir  G.     What !     Friendship  ? 

Philip.    Well— 

Sir  G.     You  said  friendship. 

Philip.    Yes. 

Sir  G.  Does  marriage  put  an  end  to  friendship?  I 
hope  not. 

Philip.     Of  course  it  doesn't,  but — 

Sir.  G.    That   friendship   must   be   put  to  an   end  ta 


IN    HONOR    BOUND  IJ 

Philip,  you  are  the  son  of  an  old  comrade,  and  I  believe 
that,  if  you  start  fair,  you  will  make  an  admirable  husband. 
But  you  must  start  fair,  or  you  won't.  I  don't  ask  you  to 
brin^  to  me  a  spotless  character — a  history  without  a  speck 
or  flaw;  all  I  ask — and  on  that  I  insist — is  that  you  shall 
begin  your  future  life  unliami)ered  by  the  past. 

Philip.     What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Sir  G.  Make  your  fair  friend  distinctly  understand  that 
all — however  little  that  all  may  have  been — is  over. 

Philip.     Will  that  satisfy  you  ? 

Sir  G.     Yes  ;  but  I  must  have  proof  she  understands  it. 

Philip.     What  sort  of  proof? 

Sir  G.  We  lawyers  have  great  faith  in  black  and  white. 
You  laymen  think  it  a  cumbrous  form  ;  but  I  have  seen  too 
many  fortunes  turn  on  a  forgotten  sheet  of  notepaper,  not 
to  appreciate  its  value. 

Philip.     What  do  you  mean? 

Sir  G.  That  you  must  bring  to  me  a  letter  from  your 
friend — 

Philip.     A  letter  from  her! 

Sir  G.  a  mere  acknowledgment  that  all  is  over. 

Philip.     A  letter! 

Sir  G.     Signed,  mind  you,  signed. 

Philip.     Signed  !   {His  cry  wakes  Lady  Carlyon.) 

Sir  G.     Nothing  like  a  signature. 

Philip  {rising).  Wouldn't  you  like  it  stamped  as  well, 
Sir  George?     (Lady  C.\rlyon  moves  slightly.) 

Sir  G.     A  penny  postage  stamp  will  be  enough. 

Philip.     It  is  impossible. 

Sir  G.  It  must  be  got.  {Lavs  down  cigar.  Philip  sinks 
back  into  seat  agaiyi.  Lady  C.^rlyon,  who  has  gone  through 
the  first  processes  of  waking,  lifts  her  head ;  at  the  sound  of 
Sir  George's  voice  she  starts  half  up  and  holds  herself  in 
that  position  during  the  rest  of  the  conversation,  but  always 
so  as  not  to  be  visible  to  the  others.  Sir  George  rises  and 
stands  by  Philip.)  I  feel  so  strongly  that  is  the  right  course, 
because  in  my  own  life  I  have  pursued  the  opposite  ;  and  I 
have  paid — nay,  I  have  not  yet  paid  the  penalty.  I  claim  to 
be  no  better  than  my  kind.  When  I  was  married,  I,  too,  was 
entangled.  I  was  a  rising  man — and  it  was  necessary  that 
I  should  obtain  a  seat  in  Parliament.  Lady  Carylon's  father 
had  much  influence  in  the  county  which  I  represent.  My 
marriage  was  political.  I  had  a  charming  wife,  who  did  her 
best  to  love  me,  heaven  knows ;  and  I  might  have  loved 
her,  if  this  entanglement  from  which  I  could  not  extricate 
myself  had  not  been  there.     But  there  it  was,  and  with  a 

2 


l8  IN   HONOR    BOUND 

woman's  quickness  she  discovered  it.  I  know  she  did, 
althougli  she  never  spoke ;  and  with  a  generosity  which  I 
can  never  repay,  she  did  not  add  to  my  embarrassment. 
What  was  the  sequel?  Death  cut  tlie  knot  whicli  I  could 
not  unravel.  I  am  free.  Now,  many  a  lime  amongst  these 
dead  dry  bones  [pointbig  to  briefs)  I  hunger  for  the  love  it 
is  too  late  to  win.  Still  that  accursed  past  stands  like  a  wall 
betwixt  my  wife  and  me.  {Returns,  c.)  Profit  by  my  ex- 
perience.    {Sits,  c.) 

Philip.  No  doubt,  the  course  you  recommend  would  be 
the  proper  course  to  take,  if  it  were  possible  ;  but  in  these 
circumstances  it  is  quite  impossible. 

Sir  G.  Difficult,  perhaps,  but  not  impossible.  Have  no 
false  delicacy  in  a  case  like  this.  This  lady — I  presume, 
whoever  she  may  be,  she  is  a  lady — who  is  fond  of  you,  for 
that  is  evident,  but  of  whose  friendship  you  are  weary, 
must  be  sacrificed — I  pity  her,  but  there  is  no  help  from  it. 

Philip.     None  !  but  a  letter  is  out  of  the  question. 

Sir  G.     Why? 

Philip.     How  could  I  ask  her? — oh,  it  is  impossible! 

Sir  G.     Then,  you  do  feel  for  her? 

Philip.     I  can't  help  pitying  her. 

Sir  G.     Perhaps  still  care  for  her — a  little  ? 

Philip.  Sir  George  {rises),  I  give  you  my  assurance  as 
a  gentleman,  nothing  lias  passed  between  us  but  kind 
words.  I  never  loved  her ;  and  when  I  think  of  all  the 
trouble  she  has  brought  on  me — how  she  has  banished  me 
for  months  abroad — how  nearly  she  has  made  me  a  false 
friend — I  hate  the  very  mention  of  her  name  \ 

Lady  C.  {who  has  folloivell  his  words  i?i  an  agoyiy,  imable 
to  restrain  herself).  Philii) !  {Rememberiyig  herself,  drops 
back  upon  the  loutige,  and  feig7is  to  be  asleep) 

Philip  {tjiming,  l.,  quickly).     What's  that? 

Sir  G.  {7'ising  a?id  turnifig  up  the  lamp,  sees  her  upon  the 
loufige).  My  wife  !  ( Going  roimd  at  back  of  desk  to  lounge.) 
She  is  asleep.  {Moving  her)  Bell!  Isabel!  {She pretends 
to  wake,  then  starts  7ip  suddenly) 

Lady  C.     Oh,  how  you  startled  me ! 

Sir.  G.     Nay,  how  you  startled  us! 

Lady  C.     How  so  ? 

Sir  G.     By  calling  out. 

Lady  C.  Forgive  me  for  disturbing  you,  but  I  was 
dreaming. 

Sir  G.  And  not  a  pleasant  dream,  apparently.  Why, 
Vou  are  trembling  all  over. 

Lady  C.  {smiling).   So  I  am. 


IN    HOXOR    BOUND  I9 

Sir  G.     And  you  cried  out  as  though  you  were  in  pain. 

Ladv  C.  It  was  in  terror,  I  dreamt  that  1  was  walking 
on  the  edge  of  a  high  diff. 

Sir  G.     Pshaw! 

Lady  C.    PhiHp  was  with  me. 

Sir  G.     You  had  a  safe  escort. 

Lady  C.  But  the  path  grew  so  difficult,  we  had  to  sepa- 
rate.    I  followed  him  ;  when  suddenly  he  turned  and — 

Sir  G.     And  what? 

Lady  C.  Flung  me  over?  I  shrieked  out,  "  Philip  !" — 
and  awoke. 

Sir  G.    That  was  what  startled  us. 

Lady  C.  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Graham,  for  having  even 
dreamed  that  you  could  be  so  little  chivalrous. 

Sir  G.  You  are  not  well,  my  dear.  It's  time  you  went 
upstairs.     I'll  ring  for  your  maid. 

Lady  C.  She  has  gone  to  bed.  It  doesn't  matter.  I 
can  go  alone. 

Sir  G.     Wiiere  is  Miss  Dalrymple  ? 

Lady  C.    I'll  look  for  her. 

Sir  G.  Stay  where  you  are.  I'll  look  for  her.  {Exit,  L. 
The  two  stand  opposite  each  other — pause.) 

Lady  C.     Well,  Philip  ? 

Philip.     Was  this  really  a  dream? 

Lady  C.     No. 

Philip.  You  have  overheard  my  conversation  with  Sir 
George  ? 

Lady  C.    The  end  of  it. 

Philip.     And  you  cried  out  because — 

Lady  C.     I  realized  the  truth. 

Philip.  I  didn't  weigh  my  words.  Perhaps  I  over- 
stated— 

Lady  C.  That  will  do.  {Pause.)  You  chose  a  curious 
confidant ! 

Philip.  I  had  no  choice.  Sir  George  is  so  acute  ;  he 
guessed  so  much,  I  had  to  pass  it  off  by  asking  him  to  give 
me  his  advice. 

Lady  C.  It  was  a  dangerous  expedient.  Does  he  sus- 
pect— who — 

Philip.    No. 

Lady  C.     Though  he  is  so  acute  ? 

Philip.  Those  who  are  gifted  with  long  sight  are  often 
blind  to  what  is  at  their  feet. 

Lady  C.     How  did  you  come  to  talk  on  such  a  subject  ? 

Philip.     I  had  been  telling  him — 

Lady  C.    Go  on. 


20  IN    HOXOR    HOUND 

Philip.     Tliat  I  am  goinp;  to  he  married. 

Lady  C.  Oh.  {Oui/e  calmly.)  That  was  your  secret? 
{Sils.) 

Philip.  Yes.  He  gue.ssed  the  reason  why  I  went  abroad, 
and  putting-  this  and  that  together,  he  divined  there  was  a 
difficulty. 

Lady  C.     What  is  the  difiiculty  ? 

Philip.  The  lady  to  wlium  I  am  engaged  is  not  yet  of 
age,  and  those  who  have  tlie  care  of  her  insist  upon  some 
proof  that  our  acquaintanceship  is  at  an  end. 

Lady  C.     They  also  know — 

Philip.    Not  who  you  are  ! 

Lady  C.  You  make  too  many  confidants.  What  proof 
do  they  require  ? 

Philip.    A  monstrous  proof! 

Lady  C.     What  ? 

Philip.  Why,  a  letter  with  your  signature!  It  is  out- 
rageous I 

Lady  C.     Does  Sir  George  think  so  ? 

Philip.     He  agrees  with  them. 

Lady  C.     What  does  he  say  you  ought  to  do  ? 

Philip.     To  ask  for  such  a  letter. 

Lady  C.     Then  why  don't  you? 

Philip.    Oh,  have  some  pity  on  me  ! 

Lady  C.  That  is  but  fair:  for  you  have  pitied  me. 
(Rises.)  You  shall  not  ask  me  for  the  document  you  want ; 
but  you  shall  have  it. 

Philip.    Ah,  you  don't  understand — 

Lady  C.    A  letter  with  my  signature.    I  understand. 

Philip.    But — 

Lady  C.    I  only  ask  one  favor  in  return. 

Philip.    Whatever  I  can  do — 

Lady  C.  Once  whilst  you  were  away,  I  was  so  foolish  as 
to  write  to  you.  Whether  or  not  my  note  was  forwarded,  I 
don't  know ;  but  if  you  received  it — 

Philip.    I  did. 

Lady  C.  Please  return  it  to  me  ;  that  is  all  I  ask.  {Slight 
pause.)    Well  ? 

Philip.    1  regret  — 

Lady  C.    Surely  you  will  do  that? 

Philip.     I  can't. 

Lady  C.     Can't  I     Why?     {Slight  pause) 

Philip  {drops  his  heaa).     I  have  destroyed  it. 

Lady  C.  Ah  !  (  Turns  up  and  sits  at  desk.)  Sit  down  a 
moment  whilst  I  write  the  letter.     (  Wi'ites  rapidly.) 

Philip.     It  would  be  to  no  purpose. 


IN    HONOR    BOUND  21 

Lady  C.     Oh,  I  will  make  it  to  tlie  purpose.     ( Writmg.) 

Philip.     Ah,  if  you  only  understood  my  situation! 

Lady  C.     Pray  sit  down.     {Continues  ivrit in i^) 

Philip  {sits  oti  the  end  of  lounge  facing  the  audience — 
aside).  How  shall  I  te|  her  who  it  is  requires  it  ?  {Rises 
— aloud)     Lady  Carlyon — 

Lady  C.  {ivriting).     In  one  moment. 

Philip  {sits — aside).  How  am  I  to  say  it  ?  {Pause, 
during  which  Lady  Carlyon  finishes  and  folds  up  the 
letter.) 

Lady  C.  {rising  and  advancing).  There  is  the  letter. 
{Puts  it  in  his  hand.) 

Philip.     It  is  of  no  use.     {Rises) 

Lady  C.     It  is  signed. 

Philip.  That  is  the  very  reason.  How  can  I  show  your 
signature — 

Lady  C.  You  have  my  leave.  The  guardian  is  a  gentle- 
man, I  hope. 

Philip.     Undoubtedly. 

Lady  C.     Then  he  will  not  betray  me. 

Philip.     But  you  don't  know —  {Door  ope?ts,  L.) 

Lady  C.     My  husband  !  hush  ! 

{Re-etiter  Sir  George,  l.     Philip  hides  behifid  his  back  the 
hand  which  holds  the  letter) 

Sir  G.  Rose  has  gone  upstairs,  but  I've  sent  word  you 
want  her.     Are  you  no  better  ?    You're  upset  to-night. 

Philip.  It  is  my  fault,  Sir  George.  I've  just  been  telling 
your  wife  of  my  difficulties. 

Sir  G.  You  couldn't  have  done  better.  I'm  sure  she 
will  agree  with  me,  that  you  should  get  the  signature  re- 
quired.    That  is  the  only  difficulty  in  the  matter. 

Philip.  But  it  is  insurmountable.  If  I  had  the  signature, 
how  could  I  use  it  ? 

Sir  G.     Not  without  permission. 

Philip.    No! 

Lady  C.  But  you  have  permission !  {Quickly  and  inad-- 
vertently) 

Sir  G.   What  ? 

Lady  C.  {aside).     I've  said  too  much. 

Sir  G.  How  did  you  get  it  ?  There's  no  post  at  this 
hour. 

Philip  {with  his  disengaged  hand  produces  Rose's  en- 
velope from  his  pocket).  In  the  letter  which  you  gave  to 
me — 

Sir  G.     Oh — ah! 


22  •  IN    HONOR    BOl'NI) 

Philip.     And  which  I  have  jusl  opened. 

Sir  G.     Tlie  letter  in  tlie  huiy's  liandvvriting. 

Philii'.     Of  her  own  accord,  she  releases  me — 

Sir  G.     This  is  a  marvelous  coincidence. 

Philip  {s/ioius  letter).    But  here  the  letter  is. 

Sir  G.  How  alike  you  women  write!  I  could  almost 
have  sworn  tiiat  envelope  was  in  my  niece's  hand. 

Lady  C.     How  could  that  be  ? 

Sir  G.     Why  not? 

Lady  C.     Rose  write  to  Philip,  whom  she  doesn't  know  ? 

Sir  G.    Not  know  ? 

Lady  C.     Tliey  never  saw  each  other  till  to-night. 

Sir  G.     You  said  Philip  had  told  you — 

Philip.     All  but  that. 

Sir  G.  You  have  not  told  my  wife  it's  Rose  you  are 
engaged  to  ? 

Lady  C.    Rose  ! 

Sir  G.  You  may  well  look  surprised.  It  seems  they  met 
on  board  the  "  Kangaroo." 

Lady  C.     He  is  engaged  to  Rose  ? 

Philip.    Yes. 

Lady  C.   Then  the  guardian  is — 

Si  r  G.  L  (  Touches  his  breast,  advances  one  step  forward, 
a?id  puts  out  his  hand.)  Give  me  the  letter.  (Lady  Car- 
lyon  a?id  Philip  both  recoil  one  step — pause.  They  stand 
breathless,  gazing  at  Sir  George.)     You  hesitate. 

Philip.  Sir  George,  you  must  make  some  allowances, 
This  letter  is  addressed  to  me,  and  I  should  not  be  justified 
In  letting  it  go  out  of  my  possession. 

Sir  G.     How,  then,  do  you  propose  to  satisfy  me  ? 

Lady  C.     Might  he  not  read  it  ? 

Sir  G.  Thank  you,  my  dear,  for  the  suggestion.  That 
will  meet  the  difficulty. 

Philip.  Then,  1  will  read  it.  {Reads  nervously,  the  letter 
trembling  in  his  hands.)  "  I  hear  you  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried. Good-bye,  Philip.  You  need  not  fear  that  I  shall 
trouble  you  again ;  I  have  your  happiness  too  much  at 
heart ;  but  if  1  should,  this  letter  puts  me  at  your  mercy. 
Should  the  necessity  arise,  you  have  my  leave  to  give  it  to 
whoever  has  the  right  to  ask  for  it. — Yours,  for  the  last 
time  — " 

Sir  G.     Stop.     Is  the  letter  signed  ? 

Philip.     In  full. 

Sir  G.    Now,  give  it  to  me. 

Philip.    Sir  George — 

Sir  G.     The  ground  is  cut  from  under  you.    You  are  ex- 


IN    HOXOk    BOUND  23 

pressly  authorized  to  give  that  letter  to  whoever  has  the 
right  to  ask  for  it.     I  have  the  right — 

Philip.     But  you  never  will  exercise  it  ? 

Sir  G.     Now.     I  have  a  reason. 

Philip.    Lady  Carlyon  ! 

Sir  G.  I  accept  the  arbiter.  Lady  Carlyon,  am  I  right 
or  wrong  ? 

Lady  C.  {in  a  low  voice  and  with  aii  effort).  Right. 

Sir  G.    The  award's  against  you. 

Lady  C.    Give  him  the  letter. 

Philip.     But^ 

Sir  G.  Sir,  I  demand  it!  (Philip  gives  it  him')  I  want 
it  for  a  very  special  purpose.  {Foldi7ig  the  letter  up,  but  ?iever 
letting  his  eyes  fall  upon  it.)  The  woman  who  wrote  this 
will  never  trouble  you.  If  she  has  done  wrong,  she  has 
borne  her  punishment.  Therefore,  in  pity,  let  us  hide  her 
shame.  {Lights  letter  at  larnp,  a?id  holds  it  in  his  hand — all 
three  stand  ivatching  it,  until  the  ashes  drop  upun  the  floor, 
then  turn  aside.  Lady  Carlyon,  r.,  Philip,  l..  Sir  George 
to  back  of  scene.) 

{Re-enter  Rose,  r.,  in  a  dressing-gown) 

Rose,    "^^u  want  me,  aunt  ? 

Sir  G.  I  want  you.  Rose.  {Leads  her  to  Philip.)  Philip 
has  asked  for  my  consent  to  your  engagement.  I  give  it 
cordially.  He  is  the  son  of  a  good  father,  and  I  think  he 
will  make  you  a  good  husband. 

Rose.  Uncle  George  !  {embraces  hitn — tur7is  to  Philip.) 
You  haven't  kept  our  secret ! 

Philip.     No,  I  couldn't  wait. 

Sir  G.  {crosses  to  Lady  Carlyon).  Won't  you  congratu- 
late them  ?    {Stands,  R.,  thoughtfully) 

Lady  C.    Yes.  {Crosses  to  Rose  a7id  Philip.) 

Rose  {embraci?ig  her).  Aren't  you  surprised.  Aunt  Bell  • 

Lady  C.  I  was,  when  first  I  heard.  I  hope  you  will  be 
very  happy.     You,  too,  Philip. 

{Gives  him  her  hand,  then  crosses  to  Sir  George.) 

Rose.     Why  don't  you  kiss  her,  Philip? 
Philip.     I'll  kiss  you  instead. 

( They  sit  aside  L.,  without  rioticing  Mie  others) 

Lady  C.  {laying  her  hand  uPo?iS\kGeokg\l'&  arm).  What 
are  you  thinking  of? 

Sir  G,     I  was  just  wondering  if  that  poor  woman's  love, 


24  IN    HONOR    BOUND 

which  had  so  gone  astray,  will  ever  go  back  to  her  hus- 
band. 

Lady  C.    Yes,  if  he  is  as  generous  as  you. 

Sir  G.    How  was  I  generous? 

Lady  C.      In  sparing  her. 

Sir  G.  I  was  not  generous  {each  looking  hi  the  other' 9. 
eves  with  meaning).  I  simply  paid  a  debt  of  honor  I  have 
owed  too  long.  If  I  was  generous,  was  it  not  you  who 
taught  me  generosity? 

Lady  C.     George,  you  have  guessed  her  name ! 

Sir  G.     But  I  shall  never  mention  it.     ( They  embrace^ 


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